


the stubborn sort

by Rupzydaisy



Category: Howl's Moving Castle - All Media Types, The Tiffany Aching Series - Terry Pratchett
Genre: witches meeting witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:59:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24741934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rupzydaisy/pseuds/Rupzydaisy
Summary: "What kind of witch are you?” asked Tiffany as she stood in the queue behind her."I'm not really-""You are. I can feel you, standing on my Chalk. As a stranger, as a witch."The woman looked down at her boots, her grey hair dropping in front of her face. Tiffany looked down too, noting that they were the practical sort, old leather that had been well worn and softened with time but carefully brushed clean and still polished. Her dress was a lilac colour and plain except for the silver ribbon around the waist. But it was pretty in a way Letice would have appreciated.The only thing missing was her hat.When she looked back at Tiffany, the small, confused frown on her face vanished as she shrugged her shoulder. "I guess, I'm the cleaning sort. What about you?"The question threw her for a moment, but she found that her Third Thoughts had no trouble at all stumbling out her mouth before her brain even had a chance to catch them. "Me too, although I guess I'm more of the stubborn sort."
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	the stubborn sort

The grass fluttered in the warm summer breeze across the Chalk, and high up on the Mound Sally Aching's old hut's wheels sat underneath Tiffany Aching's newer hut. It was a familiar sight to old eyes, and a heartening one to new. Everyone with two thoughts dancing around in their head could tell that a shepherd or shepherdess with their own hut on a hill had enough pride and care to look after their flock. 

It seemed rooted there. Although moveable in theory, it was more like a boulder or tree that had been left to grow roots and entrench itself deep onto the Chalk. It had stood there as time moved on, its owner passed on, alone compared to the dotted farms and homes further down. 

Until it wasn't. 

Steam puffed high into the air and signalled a new arrival. Metallic clunking filled the air for miles and gave the birds new food for thought as they pondered how to include this into their dawn chorus. 

The strange residence, if it could be called that, heaved and groaned across the land, moving foot by foot onwards until it reached a reasonably close distance to the old sheep hut. And there it planted itself like a sack of potatoes collapsing down on itself as metal compacted, levers and strings released themselves, and the tension holding the contraption upright suddenly disappeared. It settled there, venting bursts of hot air and cast its shadow over the small hut. 

The few Feegles hunting rabbits around in the long grass paused when they felt the overwhelming off-ness in the air. Once they looked up, they had a little bit of waily time which scared any lingering rabbits away. Then having considered it a job for the Big Wee Hag, they offskied. They zipped fast through the greenery, calling to each other about the “ _frightening_ _hiddlins!”_ that undoubtedly filled up the eldritch metal inside. 

As they sped away, a young woman with grey hair in a lilac sundress stuck her head out of a window high up between the metal piping and wooden boards. She breathed in the fresh air, and called out, "Howl, we're here!"

* * *

At her kitchen table waiting for her morning cup of tea to brew, Nanny Ogg inhaled deeply past the smell of the steeping leaves. There was something over the earthy smell that took her a moment to recognise. "Ah, I smell dramatics of the wizarding type."

She brushed aside the thought to finish off her shopping list. Once that was done, she let the hearth fire die down and made her three house calls of the morning before returning home to fill up her flask of tea again and have a small biscuit. 

Then she revisited the earlier thought, picked up her hat, and paused halfway up the garden path to pluck a sprig of lilac and tucked it into the ribbon above the hat brim before plonking it back on her head.

_There, must look our best on market day._

* * *

When Tiffany Aching stepped into the barn earlier that morning, she watched the broom fall to the ground with a clatter and understood what it meant instantly. 

"They'll be guests."

She paused, reaching for that itch of a warm feeling somewhere to the left inside her chest and then further inwards to a place that was beyond blood and bone but still very _her_. 

The Chalk beat back.

"Oh, they're already here." 

* * *

By mid-morning, the word had spread about the marketplace as quickly as word does in public places where all sorts from all over brush shoulders and mingle between the stalls. Those kinds of words are easily handed over, like bushels of apples and pocket change, lettuces and as many small courgettes you're willing to take off a desperate farmer's hands. 

"Did you hear, there's a new _thing_ up on the Mound?"

“Have you got any pears?”

"It's a metallic thing, must be from the city, or further off!"

"I heard there was washing lines hanging off it. Good day for it, they'll dry by this afternoon up there."

"Must belong to a wizard, one of those, _you know_ , flamboyant types. He’ll not find anything here to give him work, oh no, we're _quite_ happy with our own lot."

"I heard that there were two of them in there."

"I heard there were four!"

Nanny Ogg's snort carried over three rows of stalls, "Four wizards, under a single roof? You must be joking. There wouldn't be a roof, or four wizards long enough to make it here from wherever they came from!"

Back on her side of the stalls, Tiffany felt several eyes on her back while waiting to be served by the greengrocer who couldn't quell his own curiosity. He leaned forward to scrutinise her before asking. "So you _don't_ think they're here to cause trouble?"

"No. I don't think so." Tiffany handed over her change, "And thank you for the lemons, Mr Gardwick will have his voice back in no time."

She dropped the paper bag laden down with fresh lemon into her basket and moved onwards through the market. 

* * *

Nanny Ogg was adamant as soon as she laid eyes on the newcomer. "You're a witch." 

"Oh no, I'm not really a witch,” replied the grey-haired woman who was most certainly a witch. "But Howl is a wizard, a very accomplished one. And Markl here is his apprentice."

"You are. I can tell." Nanny Ogg said with a whimsical nod that couldn't be argued with. "Very nice to meet you both, and you seem a straightforward sort of lass. I must be off though. Things to do, people to see to."

"Lovely to meet you!" The grey-haired woman called back as the old witch bustled off, and then looked down at Markl to remark, "She's quite spry for her age. I don't envy her though; the mornings can play hell with one's knees."

* * *

Tiffany followed from a distance after she spotted the strangers. It was easy to keep up because the woman had grey hair that practically gleamed in the sunshine, and the young boy accompanying her darted from stall to stall, filling up a basket that seemed to hold more than first appearances would assume. 

"What kind of witch are you?” asked Tiffany as she took her place in the queue for potatoes behind her. 

"I'm not really-"

"You are. I can feel you, standing on my Chalk. As a stranger, as a witch."

The woman looked down at her boots, her grey hair dropping in front of her face. Tiffany looked down too, noting that they were the practical sort, old leather that had been well worn and softened with time but carefully brushed clean and still polished. Her dress was a lilac colour and plain except for the silver ribbon around the waist. But it was pretty in a way Letice would have appreciated. 

The only thing missing was her hat. 

When she looked back at Tiffany, the small, confused frown on her face vanished as she shrugged her shoulder. "I guess, I'm the cleaning sort. What about you?"

The question threw her for a moment, but she found that her Third Thoughts had no trouble at all stumbling out her mouth before her brain even had a chance to catch them. "Me too, although I guess I'm more of the stubborn sort." 

"That can be a very good quality to have." The woman stuck out her hand. "My name's Sophie. It's lovely to meet you. And this is Markl." The ginger haired boy offered his hand too. 

"Tiffany, and likewise. We don't get many visitors who are witches. Or people who travel in a strange contraption."

She got a small twitch of a smile from Sophie, while Markl failed to suppress a laugh into a snort. "No, it's quite unique."

“How does it work?” Tiffany’s curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she had to ask. “It’s magic, I understand that much, but what kind?” 

“I’m afraid I can’t give you any answers myself.” Sophie’s smile curled up one side until it was a mischievous kind of crooked. “But, you should come back with us for some supper. Howl will have done his rounds by then, and you can ask Calcifer your questions.”

It was a tempting offer, but she smiled back apologetically. “I have my own rounds to do. Mr Marwood needs his toenails clipping, Mrs Cedar needs her dressings changed, and I need to deliver a new batch of cough medicine for the Norman’s new baby.” 

“Toenails?” Markl pulled a face, which reminded Tiffany of her own brother. 

“How about you come by at dusk? Just follow the puffs of steam and general clanging noises.” 

“Or the weight of it on the Chalk.” Tiffany muttered under her breath, feeling like she could let her feet go on their own, upwards on the mound and past her hut to the place where the walking house had temporarily pitched on. 

Sophie’s smile brightened further, “I’m sure Howl will have his own questions for you too.”

“I’ll see you at dusk.” Then, just as she was about to go, she mentioned. “Make sure you stop by the stall selling jam. There’s a gooseberry one that people travel from all over Ramtops to buy a jar of.” 

“Sounds delightful.” 

“See you later!” Markl hurried off towards the butcher’s, calling for an order of bacon as he went, and Sophie offered her a smile and the promise of a small feast for dinner. 

A few heads around them turned as she left Tiffany after paying for a sack of potatoes. 

“Interesting young lady, isn’t she?” Nanny Ogg said in her crackly voice inches from behind Tiffany’s ear, which would have made any other man, woman, or child jump out of their skin. But since she had been taught by the woman herself, Tiffany had learned that it was very unwitchlike to jump. 

“She is. Have you heard of a wizard called Howl?” 

“Oh, yes, some cracking stories. They say he’s a bit of a heartbreaker, a formidable opponent, and keen gardener. Would I like to have him pruning my ivy trails.” 

Tiffany pulled a face at Nanny Ogg's tone. “I’ve been invited for supper.” 

“Well, you don’t need me reminding you to keep your wits about yourself. He’s a heart eater too...but I’m sure that one’s keeping him in line.” 

“She’s a witch, isn’t she?” 

“I can’t quite put my finger on it, but yes, she’s something of the sort. Like recognises like, after all, and you’ve got a good nose for these things.” The old witch chuckled heartily and then hobbled off to finish collecting the items on her shopping list. 

After a few moments, Tiffany walked off in the opposite direction towards a stall selling homemade wines and stout, and added two bottles of dandelion wine to her shopping basket to take along to supper with her. She was sure it would be an interesting evening. 


End file.
